Ken Follett - The Hammer of Eden

“They’re too regular. They look artificial.”

“Artificial?”

He nodded. “I don’t know what caused these vibrations, but they don’t look natural. I believe your terrorists did something . I just don’t know what it is.”

“Can you find out?”

“I hope so. I’ll call a few people. Plenty of seismologists will be studying these readings already. Between us we ought to be able to figure out what they mean.”

He didn’t sound too sure, but Judy guessed she would have to be content with that for now. She had got all she could out of Michael tonight. Now she needed to get to the scene of the crime. She picked up the sheet that had emerged from the printer. It showed a series of map references.

“Thanks for seeing me,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

“I enjoyed it.” He smiled at her, a big hundred-watt smile showing two rows of white teeth.

“Have a good weekend with Dusty.”

“Thanks.”

She got in her car and headed back to the city. She would go to the office and look up airline schedules on the Internet, see if there was a flight to somewhere near Owens Valley early tomorrow morning. She would also need to check which FBI field office had jurisdiction over Owens Valley and talk to them about what she was doing. Then she would call the local sheriff and get him on her side.

She reached 450 Golden Gate Avenue, parked in the underground garage, and took the elevator up. As she walked past Brian Kincaid’s office, she heard voices. He must be working late.

This was as good a time as any to bring him up to speed. She entered the anteroom and tapped on the open door to the inner office.

“Come in,” he called.

She stepped inside. Her heart sank when she saw that Kincaid was with Marvin Hayes. She and Marvin disliked each other intensely. He was sitting in front of the desk, wearing a tan summer suit with a white button-down shirt and a black-and-gold power tie. He was a good-looking man, with bristly dark hair cut short and a neat mustache. He looked the picture of competence, but in fact he was everything a law enforcement officer should not be: lazy, brutal, slapdash, and unscrupulous. For his part, he thought Judy was prissy.

Unfortunately, Brian Kincaid liked him, and Brian was now the boss.

The two men looked startled and guilty when Judy walked in, and she realized they must have been talking about her. To make them feel worse, she said: “Am I interrupting something?”

“We were talking about the earthquake,” Brian said. “Did you hear the news?”

“Of course. I’ve been working on it. I just interviewed a seismologist who says the foreshocks are like nothing he’s ever seen before, but he’s sure they’re artificial. He gave me the map coordinates for the exact location of the tremor. I want to go to Owens Valley in the morning to look for witnesses.”

A significant glance passed between the two men. Brian said: “Judy, no one can cause an earthquake.”

“We don’t know that.”

Marvin said: “I’ve talked to two seismologists myself, tonight, and they both told me it was impossible.”

“Scientists disagree—”

Brian said: “We think this group never went near Owens Valley. They found out about the earthquake and claimed credit for it.”

Judy frowned. “This is my assignment,” she said. “How come Marvin is calling seismologists?”

“This case is becoming very high-profile,” Brian said. Suddenly Judy knew what was coming, and her heart filled with impotent fury. “Even though we don’t believe the Hammer of Eden can do what they claim, they can get a hell of a lot of publicity. I’m not confident you can deal with that.”

Judy struggled to control her rage. “You can’t reassign me without a reason.”

“Oh, I have a reason,” he said. He picked up a fax from his desk. “Yesterday you got into an altercation with a California Highway Patrolman. He stopped you for speeding. According to this, you were uncooperative and abusive, and you refused to show him your license.”

“For Christ’s sake, I showed him my badge!”

Brian ignored that. Judy realized he was not really interested in the details. The incident with the CHP was just a pretext. “I’m setting up a special squad to deal with the Hammer of Eden,” he went on. He swallowed nervously, then lifted his chin in an aggressive gesture and said: “I’ve asked Marvin to take charge. He won’t be needing your help. You’re off the case.”

Priest could hardly believe he had done it.

I caused an earthquake. I really did. Me .

As he drove the truck north on U.S. 395, heading for home, with Melanie beside him and Star and Oaktree in the ’Cuda behind, he let his imagination run riot. He visualized a white-faced TV reporter giving the news that the Hammer of Eden had done what they promised; riots in the streets as people panicked at the threat of another earthquake; and a distraught Governor Robson, outside the Capitol Building, announcing a freeze on the building of new power plants in California.

Maybe that was too optimistic. People might not be ready to panic yet. The governor would not cave in immediately. But he would at least be forced to open negotiations with Priest.

What would the police do? The public would expect them to catch the perpetrators. The governor had called in the FBI. But they had no idea who the Hammer of Eden were, no clues. Their job was next to impossible.

One thing had gone wrong today, and Priest could not help worrying about it. When Star called John Truth, she had not spoken to an individual but had left a message on a machine. Priest would have stopped her, but by the time he realized what was happening it was too late.

An unknown voice on a tape was not much use to the cops, he figured. All the same he wished they did not have even such a slender lead.

He found it surprising that the world was carrying on as if nothing had happened. Cars and trucks passed up and down the freeway, people parked at Burger King, the Highway Patrol stopped a young man in a red Porsche, a maintenance crew trimmed roadside bushes. They should all have been in shock.

He began to wonder if the earthquake had really happened. Had he imagined the whole thing in a dope dream? He had seen it with his own eyes, the gash in the earth that had opened up in Owens Valley — yet the earthquake seemed more farfetched and impossible now than when it was just an idea. He yearned for public confirmation: a TV news report, a picture on a magazine cover, people talking about it in a bar or the checkout line of a supermarket.

In the late afternoon, while they were on the Nevada side of the border, Priest pulled into a filling station. The ’Cuda followed. Priest and Oaktree filled the tanks, standing in the slanting evening sunlight, while Melanie and Star went to the ladies’ room.

“I hope we’re on the news,” Oaktree said edgily.

He was thinking the same as Priest. “How could we not be?” Priest replied. “We caused an earthquake!”

“The authorities could keep it quiet.”

Like a lot of old hippie types, Oaktree believed that the government controlled the news. Priest thought that might be harder than Oaktree imagined. Priest believed the public were their own censors. They refused to buy newspapers or watch TV shows that challenged their prejudices, so they got fed pap.

However, Oaktree’s thought worried him. It might not be too difficult to cover up a small earthquake in a lonely place.

He went inside to pay. The air-conditioning made him shiver. The clerk had a radio playing behind the counter. It occurred to Priest that he might hear the news. He asked the time, and the counterman said it was five to six. After he paid, Priest lingered, pretending to study a rack of magazines while he listened to Billy Jo Spears singing “ ’57 Chevrolet.” Melanie and Star came out of the rest room together.